cigarette stains
by xfucktheglasses
Summary: Cheers to the chain smokers, the jocks and the back of the bleachers because they keep all the secrets. —Vegeta/Bulma.


This happened because of this challenge thingy on tumblr where someone had to choose a verse and a pairing and I had to choose to either write a summary, give a title or write a short drabble. Someone asked for Vegeta/Bulma and high school AU. I liked the summary too much and made an actual story. Not what I was going for or expected but this is my first time writing them. And I figured that, taking away his Saiyan pride and sticking him as a human and in school, Vegeta would just be one of those teenagers that hates everything just because.

So. Be gentle, please.

**cigarette stains**

i.

She's the kind of girl that wears red tube dresses with cowgirl boots and jean jackets. And she does it because she can—because the school won't say anything to her because her dad's funding everything. So she walks with her sharp chin held up high, her small shoulders squared and her blue pixie hair ruffled and unkept—spiked and sharp like her tongue and her mind.

She's the kind of girl that Vegeta hates.

The brainiac that sat at the back of the classroom, a leg crossed over the other while she sends text messages to her friends because she already knows the subject at hand. A whiz in biology and mathematics—stuck up without even trying.

It pisses Vegeta off—_she _pisses Vegeta off.

And when she walks by him, by his locker, by his table, and she flashes him that haughty knowing smirk—god, how it drives him off the wall.

ii.

He does not know her name.

Everyone says it, but he never pays enough attention to care—to even grasp it out of side conversations he doesn't even mean to hear.

He calls her names like Bitch and Cunt because it fits her.

iii.

He still doesn't know her name.

He doesn't think she knows his either.

But they're both still behind the bleachers, pressed together and sharing hungry kisses and bruising touches. She smells like nicotine and antibiotics and her hair is softer than it looks. She hikes herself up with the metal fence, her legs wrapped around his waist. She shoves his letterman jacket off his shoulders and throws it aside.

Vegeta is intoxicated by her kisses and he doesn't really remember how they landed in this position, in this place.

He is absolutely positive he hates her and she is constantly mocking him with her smirks and the hot flashes of her blue eyes. But he's palming her hip bones and she's carving tracks of her nails down his back and this is hate sex at its finest, behind the bleachers because no one comes back here, anyway.

iv.

It changes nothing.

He studies her with clinical eyes and disdain; she rustles her hair and doesn't mind if it sticks up in odd angles and she smiles with her teeth when she's with her friends.

Vegeta twirls his pen in between his fingers, half-paying attention to what the teacher is saying and writing up on the board. His attention is out the window, watching as unexpected rain pitter-patters against the bay windows. Rain annoys him, especially unexpected rain. It ruins plans, not that he had any—but rain is an easy thing to dislike and Vegeta loves to dislike things.

She passes by his table and he only knows this because of the familiar smell—nicotine and antibiotics. Her hips are swaying, her dress complimentary and everything goes down to his pants.

He grits his teeth and looks away.

v.

She looks wonderful under the rain.

There, he will admit that to himself.

She looks fucking amazing with her pixie hair plastered against her forehead, blue eyes wide and lips pale as they're bruised and parted. Her chest heaves and her breasts look larger against the wet material of her t-shirt, soaked and stuck like second skin. She looks like any other girl, lowered down from her high horse to meddle with the peasants.

Vegeta kisses her senseless, until she cannot breathe and until she wants to kiss no one but him.

She groans when his rough fingers graze her skin under her shirt and she mutters his name; he doesn't remember telling her it but he doesn't care enough to stop and think about it.

The rain curtains them and Vegeta sucks the raindrops off her collarbones.

vi.

Her name is Bulma, but he still calls her Bitch or Cunt in his mind.

Because she's vulgar and unabashed and Vegeta dislikes her.

vii.

Watching her smoke turns him on.

He doesn't realize it until a dark morning as he walks down the student parking lot. She is sitting on the hood of her rusty, old pickup truck, a cig in between her teeth and smoke exhaling out of her nose. She's watching everything from under her cobalt lashes, lips pursed to the side and nimble fingers cracking her knuckles.

Vegeta passes by, throat constricting as he swallows.

He says nothing to her because she does not exist, but he hates how his chest pounds with the echo of his heartbeat because he's supposed to dislike her.

viii.

Bulma is not the one to fall first.

And it eats at Vegeta's pride until he is nothing but a hollow vessel, walking down the hallways and sitting in classrooms. It's an epiphany he does not want to accept, one he repels because he dislikes her and her blue hair and bluer eyes and pale lips. He's spent so much time disliking her; the mere fact of kissing her, touching her, fucking her has robbed him of the feeling.

The bleachers become ghosts because he doesn't meet her there, anymore.

She passes by and her eyes are always on him, like blazing fire sent from the deepest pits of hell. But he doesn't look at her and he feels like a cowards and he hates it—this feeling, because it is the truth.

He is a coward and he hates it.

ix.

Weeks before summer, that's when she cracks and she approaches him, eyes flashing with something like anger.

"You don't just leave something open ended like that," she sneers and he can only stare at her with minor interest. "I don't care how much of a dick you are, buddy."

Vegeta raises an eyebrow and his lips slowly tilt to the side into a smirk. "You are amusing."

She curls her hands at her side and sneers at him.

x.

He drives her home, because he can and because he wants to.

His pride has never been more wounded than at that very moment, but the way she smirks the entire way, the way she smokes her cigarette and taps the ash out through the window is worth it.

Vegeta likes to dislike her but he also likes to look at her because she's the only person that can keep up.


End file.
